


Stranger in a Strange Land

by 07JoeTheBastardo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gay Male Character, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Refugees, Slow Build, War, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/07JoeTheBastardo/pseuds/07JoeTheBastardo
Summary: you’re a soldier,is what he thinks. A soldier abandoned by his people to die in the ocean, enemies at their shores, and death at his heels.You really didn’t think you were going to make it, but that stroke of luck has you stranded in the death island your people always spoke about.
Relationships: Erwin Smith/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 9





	Stranger in a Strange Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _" Every nation whose affairs betray a want of wisdom and stability may calculate on every loss which can be sustained from the more systematic policy of its wiser neighbors. "_
> 
> James Madison

1.

It was your ceremonial uniform that pooled anxiety in the bottomless pit in your stomach.

Your one and only task is a very simple order; guard the shipyard, and oversee that the refugees make it safely in. Keep order and keep the peace, as you solemnly swore to do when you turned just shy of twenty-two. And following the turning years, you have done everything _right._

_So why are you so afraid right now?_

Ceremonial uniforms are only issued once every year, for the king’s birthday or a crowning ceremony. Those were few and dry, only the ones lucky enough to be stationed in the capital used the garbs long and repeatedly enough to have one.

And then they send a tailor into your platoon, intended for each and every soldier that was housed there. 

The stiff neck piece, the golden eagle that tore through your country’s enemies, gleamed in the golden red fire, where you and your comrades were slumped over, trying to keep warm. It wasn’t the physical cold outside, it was the cold fingers that ranked themselves in your spine, counting each bone. 

“What the hell is going on?” A whispered plea, masked in slight hysteria that's too loud in the dead silent room. It was Wanvior, a brave man who always complained about his wife and bragged about his daughter. Or at least you think he has one, its difficult to concentrate right now.

But you shrug, your common sense finally getting fed up and getting up from the corner of your darken mind to punch you. You wouldn't even been in this situation if you had only listened to reason.

When you were little you liked to dream about meeting a royal guard. With their gleaming white swords, their shiny boots, their soft molten gold eagle in their necks.

You weren’t young enough to be wise enough, you didn’t know any better. Your head was filled with the warbed reality we call fantasy, as your father was a guard as well, always preaching;

“ _its heretical if you don't want to serve, sacrilegious even! Have pride son, its a privilege!"_

Of course he was later found to have embezzled some money from some man in the capital and then struck dead by his own hand.

So you smile at your comrade (ignore the trembling in your hand, say its the cold) and you half heartily slap his shoulder, as if to remind him of his reality.

"Its obvious that we're being transferred to the capital! Chill, just enjoy the fact that we have the privilege to have 'em," You know its bullshit, he knows it's bullshit, the men and women whom you served with know its bullshit.

The only ones allowed in the capital are those born there or have been acknowledged by their work. All your platoon have ever done is guard this shipyard, not even faced that much danger compared to your fellow soldiers fighting elsewhere.

You weren't remarkable, your scores being averge and barely passing your tests to qualify. So why are you being dolled up? Its terrifying, being so un-remarkable now.

It's not just bloody mouth and shaking hands, its not just stomach aches or dripping sweat or burning with fever. It's the unknown guards that have surrounded the shipyard, _a protection squad_ said the lady from the capital. _So nothing happens to me._

But why would anything happen to her?

External forces? The war has ranked in its gold but the enemy isn't that close in. Internal? Who would want to hurt a lady who—

_Ah_.

You smile to your reflection in the cold water in your cup. A flash of understanding blinded your eyelids, on why everyone is dancing on top of a sword's edge, more than others. You suddenly want to go home, bask in your mother's arms and eat the special soup with chunks of beef and vegetables from the garden.

Yeah, you really want to go home now.

* * *

It became more transparent when they send orders to board a ship.

None but a handful were specifically trained to fight at sea, most in the platoon were hastily assembled and plucked from random parts inland. Yet they order every single soldier to board the attack boat.

They say its to keep the peace in the boat, as there are reports of riots in ships. But most refugees are young children and the elderly. And not once have you heard of any riots.

Yet you smile in greeting to the soldier guarding the exits, you feel your eyebags from physically looking and counting each of your comrades as they march onboard.

There are less crew memebers, you grind your teeth. Why? _Maybe they were pulled to combat somewhere else_ , you say _. I call bullshit,_ your mind replies.

"We're gonna be fine. Just fine. Great even. We're gonna be fine—"

It's the rookie. Poor bastard is hiding behind the barrels, the few that still doesn't know how to properly swim. An oversight mistake, as he was supposed to be fighting in the front lines. But was instead send here, not that he complained, he laughs at every opportunity.

When you board the ship, a chunk of the refugees are there and you ignore the sounds behind you as the rookie cries out in pain and of feet stomping.

You sit next to some girl, too skiny and dirty. Her clothes torned in the edges, with worn out holes in the bottom. You try to smile to comfort her, your intestine looping circles around each other.

She flinched and retreats futher into her mother's side.

Oh.

Maybe you had a scary smile on. Try not to dwell on it.

And when the ship rocks foward, its sails fluttering in the wind, you ignore the whines and the soft cries, opting to watch the shore become smaller and smaller.

Your breathing is the one thing you can hear when men and woman are pulling themselves up and started to scream at the "captain" of the ship— the platoon officer who has only been in your squad for two months. People are screaming, hysterically, hanging on the railing and some jumping off, taking their chances with the sea.

Sit there and smile.

The "captain" only knows how to use a fishing boat not a goddamn old war ship.

Smile.

There's smoke— you think you can smell smoke, it's hard to distinguish between the smoke of wood and sea water with rotting flesh.

Your breathing as gotten harder to hear over the waves, crashing against the wood. Someone hits your shoulder, turn, and see its the girl from before. Clinging to her mother as both are thrown overboard. You both keep your eyes locked with each other, her crystal blue eyes looking so innocently shocked as her body crashes down.

Stand up on your shaking legs.

You can't hear your men or women, or see the refugees but the blurs of movements and dull colors.

There's an explosion and—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so. I wanted to bring some of my stories from the dead, dark corners of Tumblr and being some life into them, you know? So here we are.

**Author's Note:**

> I already posted this in Tumblr, but its an older version. Similar content is there as well.


End file.
